Latisha’s eyes flickered. She looked toward the door. It was shut tight. No one had come in. A wave of confusion washed over her. Was she still dreaming? Or was she hallucinating?
Latisha tried to stand, but her legs were numb from sitting on the floor for so long. She stumbled and fell back onto the sofa. A pins-and-needles sensation shot through her calves, so intense it made her grimace.
The movement pulled at her injured cheek, making the tightness more pronounced. She was certain now: it wasn’t a dream. Someone had put medicine on her face.
Was there someone else here?
Before she could figure it out, the door opened and Santino walked in. He was wearing a beige suit, which, compared to the silk tunic, made him look even taller and leaner. His long, straight legs could rival Clifford’s. He stopped beside her and looked down.
Latisha gripped the sofa cushion, her gaze fixed on him nervously.
After a moment, Santino squatted down and unlocked the chain from her ankle. “Go make breakfast.”
Latisha was stunned for a moment before the words registered. She slowly stood up and dragged her aching legs outside.
The rain had stopped, but the sky was still heavy with dark, oppressive clouds that seemed to hover just above the mountaintops, shrinking the world.
Latisha went to the kitchen for a basket and headed to the back to pick vegetables. Fearing it might rain again, she gathered enough for the whole day.
She staggered back with the heavy basket, her shoes caked in a thick layer of mud. She slipped and fell several times on the slick ground. She squatted in the courtyard, using a stick to scrape the mud from the soles of her shoes.
Santino stood in the doorway, watching the small figure in the oversized down coat, its hem dragging in the dirt.
Once her shoes were clean, Latisha carried the vegetables to the kitchen and began the familiar routine of preparing a meal—drawing water from the well, washing and chopping vegetables, and starting a fire.



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